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Dreaming distressed me. I slept with both of my eyes open, unable to shut. Dreams merged with consciousness like a mad hallucination. I dreamt once of my own body, a face marred by eyeless, bloody sockets, coming into the warehouse with arms outstretched, groping and stumbling blindly towards my field of vision, coming to retrieve the jar. It was at once a nightmare for the terminally insane and the happiest dream of my life.
-“A Sight for Sore Eyes,” a short story by Nate French